


qotta

by curiositykilled



Series: of swords and wings [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 06:43:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19847695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiositykilled/pseuds/curiositykilled
Summary: Altaïr brings an unexpected guest into Malik's bureau.





	qotta

They’ve just finished their meeting and Malik is rising from the table when Altaïr’s chest – squirms. Malik freezes. Altaïr has not looked up from the map they were looking over, but from the sudden tension in his shoulders, it’s intentional. His chest squirms again.

“Altaïr,” Malik says slowly, “what – is that?”

His voice comes out a little flatter than intended, more statement than question.

“What is what?”

Altaïr does not look up. He does reach one hand up to still the movement in his chest.

“Altaïr.”

Finally, guiltily, Altaïr lifts his eyes from the map he was pretending to study. Sheepish is never a word Malik would connect with Altaïr, and yet, now, as the other man reaches a hand into his tabard, it is the only one that could apply. Revealing this apparent secret, however, resolves very little of Malik’s confusion.

“You brought a cat?” he demands.

The little creature is old enough to require both of Altaïr’s hands but still small enough to seem fragile in his broad palms. Its dirty-white fur is damp and mussed, sticking up in spikes across its forehead and back.

“She was alone,” Altaïr says by way of explanation.

Malik stares at him. Jerusalem is filled with stray cats, roaming both streets and rooftops. Altaïr holds the kitten a little closer to his chest, even as it gives a peeved meow.

“Have you ever cared for a cat?” Malik asks.

Altaïr’s shoulders slump just-so.

“No,” he admits.

Malik hesitates a moment before taking his seat across from Altaïr once more.

Despite how far they’ve come, how many reassurances they’ve given each other, their way forward has not been as straightforward as he might have thought it would be after that initial confession.

Times like these, when Altaïr’s head dips in preemptive disappointment, cut too close to that year. He doesn’t want to go back, but it’s too easy to slip back into those habits. He has to catch himself every time.

“Nor have I,” he admits. “I hope she doesn’t have fleas.”

Altaïr looks up, almost hopeful. The kitten mewls, still trying to wriggle free.

“I bathed her,” she says. “I think she is free of them.”

Malik’s eyebrows raise just a little. From a glance at the kitten, it’s clear that Altaïr didn’t just dunk her into a bucket but actually took the time to wash her; her fur is still gently ruffled, fluffed up from where Altaïr probably tried to dry her with his robes. It’s the kind of effort that shouldn’t be a surprise but still is; for so long, Altaïr only showed that kind of care to his weapons.

“Well, then,” Malik says. “I imagine you must have named her already as well.”

This time, Altaïr’s embarrassment is all his own doing. He looks down at the kitten as he replies, stroking her head with a finger. She whines.

“I’ve just been calling her Qotta.”

Malik manages to hold himself together for an impressive few moments before he breaks into laughter. Grandmaster of the Assassins, Eagle of Masyaf – and Altaïr named the cat “Cat.”

Altaïr, for his part, bears the laughter with good humor. His lips quirk up on one side, blanching the skin around his scar.

“Do you have an alternative in mind?” he asks.

“No,” Malik says, still amused. “Qotta is perfect.”

He clears a little space on the table so Altaïr can release the squirming kitten at least partially. Immediately, she turns to jump off the table.

“She certainly takes after you,” Malik remarks as Altaïr places her back on the table.

Altaïr hums a little, a small smile curving his lips.

After several more attempts to escape, the kitten finally resigns herself to toddling around the little area they’ve created on the table. They settle into a comfortable silence, watching her. Every so often, she stops to sniff one of them vigorously before making a mad dash to the table’s edge. Each time, her flight is arrested by one of them, and she hangs limp in their hands for a moment before starting again.

Despite himself, despite all common sense and all pretense at gruffness, Malik is enchanted by the stubborn creature. Pets weren’t permitted in Masyaf, too close to an attachment that might distract novices from their tasks. He’s never thought much of it or even enough to miss the opportunity. Now, though, as the kitten finally drops her little rump to the table and starts licking at her fur, he thinks he likes the idea.

What he likes better still, though, is the soft way Altaïr looks at her, the delight that brightens his eyes when she settles down with her front paws tucked beneath her chest. Too rare are their opportunities for this kind of domesticity. Now that Altaïr has brought one to them, Malik thinks it would take some doing for him to be willing to part with it.

“Why didn’t you just say something?” he asks, reaching out his hand to run a careful finger down Sunduq’s back.

She aborts his gesture to sniff at him, pressing her cold little nose right to his finger, before abating and allowing him to pet her. Altaïr shrugs.

“I was going to find her a home,” he says.

“So you weren’t going to try to hide her and raise her in the bureau without me noticing,” Malik remarks.

Altaïr has the good grace to look a little embarrassed, at least.

“Not for long,” he says.

Beneath Malik’s hand, the kitten has closed her eyes and at last, a rusty little purr starts up. Altaïr perks up at the sound, watching as if it is the first time he’s seen a contented cat before. In truth, he may not have; Malik can’t remember the last time he actually petted one.

“I can make her a bed out in the atrium,” Altaïr offers.

Malik scoffs. Now that he’s earned the kitten’s grudging purr, he’s loathe to stop, but he forces himself to rise.

“Come, bring your daughter,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads to his private quarters.

In the coming days, he will no doubt chastise himself for being too soft and too easily swayed by Altaïr’s hopeful eyes. But for now, curled on his side with Altaïr’s legs tangled with his and the little kitten curled in a ball between their chests, he cannot bring himself to mind.

**Author's Note:**

> ty for the corrections on translation! 
> 
> anyway, I just wanted to add more fluff to the altmal fic pile bc like, we all need it
> 
> as always, I'm on tumblr at [ curiosity-killed](https://curiosity-killed.tumblr.com/) ^-^


End file.
